Hurricane (21 page)

They could see the spray shooting up from behind the speedboat. It was coming full throttle now. Jimmy pulled on the starter cord and the engine caught. He gave it a little gas and it purred, then he revved it and it roared.

Broxton uncleated the painter and tossed it to Susan. Despite the fact that she’d sold them out he couldn’t bring himself to want anything but the best for her. He liked Jimmy and she was his wife. He flashed her the piece sign with his left hand. She flashed it back. Jimmy gave his familiar thumbs up sign. Broxton pointed to a group of three sailboats halfway between them and the shore. Jimmy nodded as he put the dinghy in gear and then he was off, planing the dinghy over the rolling waves. The speedboat would have no trouble cutting them off before they reached shore, but they had a better than even chance of reaching the safety of the sailboats.

With them away, Broxton went back to the cockpit and released the autopilot. The speed boat was coming fast and Broxton pointed the boat out to sea and let out the main sheet. With the wind at her side, Obsession was again on a beam reach, her best and fastest point of sail.

The men in the speedboat had a problem, go after the dinghy and risk losing sight of Obsession as she made for the open sea, or go after Obsession and lose the dinghy for certain. Broxton gambled they’d go after the prize, and he smiled with satisfaction when the speedboat changed course to follow.

He set the autopilot and went forward to join T-Bone. He knew now they were watching them with long glasses or they wouldn’t have charged forward when the dinghy went in the water.

“
Drugs gotta go overboard,” he said.

“
I know,” T-Bone answered, and he opened the hatch to the forepeak and jumped below.

Broxton stood above as T-Bone handed out the bales, one at a time, and one at a time, Broxton tossed them into the sea.

The weather was changing, for the worse. The wind was picking up and so was Obsession’s speed. They would have a devil of a time boarding.

Broxton picked up the binoculars from the bracket on the binnacle and smiled when the speedboat slowed to pick up a bale. There were four of them. Two large and Teutonic looking. The other two looked Hispanic. Dark hair, dark eyes, both holding machine pistols. One of them was driving the boat, the other was watching Broxton through a set of binoculars of his own. Broxton flashed him the piece sign. The man gave him the finger in return.

The speedboat circled the drugs. A mistake, because that made it even harder to grapple the bales on board as they bobbed in the boat’s wake. The two big men were forced to set their weapons down and fish for them with their hands.

“
Stupid,” T-Bone said. “they should let them go.”

“
Greed,” Broxton said. “Go below. Fill a glass with catsup and add about twenty-five percent soy sauce and mix it up good.”

“
You got a plan?”

“
When you’re finished it should look like blood.”

“
Yeah, Billy Boy, you got a plan. I can tell.” T-Bone went below.

Broxton stood in the cockpit and watched the speedboat as they fished the bales out of the sea. Till the day he died, he’d never understand that kind of person. For whatever reason they were after him, it had to be more important to whoever was paying them than a few thousand dollars of marijuana, but there they were, just the same. Not much brighter than children.

The last bale was giving them trouble, and Broxton laughed as the men in the boat struggled to get it. Every time they came around to it, it floated away, almost like it was eluding them on purpose. After the third attempt and the third failure, Broxton thought they were going to give up, but when they made another circle and came up on the bale again, he realized that it had become a challenge. They wouldn’t quit until they had the bale on board.

And it galled him that they were so sure of their quarry that they would take the time out to fish the grass from the sea. They must think they were dealing with sitting ducks. So stupid, because these ducks were intelligent. They weren’t going to wait and go like lambs to the slaughter.

“
Okay, got it,” T-Bone said from below.

“
Come up, but stay low,” Broxton said, and T-Bone slithered out of the hatch like a snake out of a hole. He kept sliding till he was fully in the cockpit and staring up at Broxton.

“
Now what, Billy?” Broxton couldn’t believe it. The man was smiling, laughing, like he was having a good time. He’d just lost thousands of dollars and the men in the speed boat would shortly be upon them. T-Bone had to know they weren’t coming for tea and crumpets. Most men would be shaking with sweat, but his friend was tingling with excitement.

“
Slide across to the back of the boat and pour the fake blood on the deck. Then lay down with your head in it.”

“
Shit, that doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“
Think you can keep your eyes open for a few minutes without blinking?” Broxton asked.

“
What happens if I can’t?”

“
We’ll probably be killed.”

“
Shit, I can keep ’em open all afternoon. Who needs to blink?”

“
Can you shoot a man?”

“
What happens if I can’t?”

“
We’ll probably be killed.”

“
Sure, I can take out an army if I have to,” he laughed.

“
Can you hit what you’re shooting at?”

“
Shit, let’s just do it,” T-Bone said, and he slid to the stern and poured the catsup-soy sauce mixture out of the jar. “Gooey,” he said, before dropping his head into the mixture. “How’s this?” He stared up at Broxton, eyes wide, tongue hanging out.

“
Don’t make me laugh, they’re coming,” Broxton said, and T-Bone pulled his tongue back in his mouth and lay there, looking dead. “Keep the gun tucked out of sight,” Broxton said, and he bent over his friend, picked up the jar and tossed it over the side.

“
Pollution,” T-Bone mumbled. “Can get in big trouble for that.”

Broxton smiled and reached under T-Bone and pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket along with his wooden matches.

“
You don’t smoke,” T-Bone said.

“
I do today,” and he cupped his hand, struck a match and lit a cigarette. “Okay,” he said. “It’s show time.”

The speedboat was moving closer and Broxton squinted over the side. That last bale was drifting toward shore. So there weren’t able to get it after all. He wondered if it was a good sign. He didn’t think so. He was counting on their greed.

The speedboat pulled along side. Broxton smiled and waved, like he was greeting friends. Then he unhooked the swim ladder from the front of the mast. One of the blond men was struggling to get a line around one of the stanchions, but the speedboat, not made for rolling seas, was jerking back and forth, making it a battle he was bound to lose.

“
Wait a minute,” Broxton yelled down at them. The second blond man pointed a pistol at Broxton, expecting resistance, but Broxton, with his cigarette clamped between his lips, ignored him as he set the swim ladder in place.

Once he slipped the pins in, securing the ladder, he stood up, flipped the cigarette into the ocean and yelled to be heard over the sea, “Throw me your line.” The blond man did and Broxton secured it to a stanchion with a double half hitch. By the time he was finished the man with the gun was climbing on board. Broxton offered his hand. The man ignored it.

“
Move away,” he said, with the gun pointed at Broxton’s stomach. Broxton stepped back as the other man and one of the Hispanics climbed on board.

“
I’m Broxton,” he said.

“
What happened to him?” the second man up the ladder asked. Both men sounded German, and they were looking at T-Bone’s body and the pool of red around his head.

“
He died,” Broxton said.

“
How?”

“
I killed him.”

“
Why would you do that?” the Hispanic said. Broxton thought he had a Cuban accent.

“
I thought maybe we could make a deal.”

“
What kind of deal?” one of the Germans asked.

“
I know where he buys the drugs and I know where he sells them. With a little financial backing we can make a fortune.”

“
You really don’t know anything, do you?”

“
I know we can make a couple hundred grand each in a few months. I know that. That should interest you.”

The man laughed, turned and said something to his friend in German, then he turned back to Broxton, still laughing, “Time for you to go,” he said, bringing a pistol out from inside his shirt.

“
One question, please,” Broxton said.

“
Sure.” The German pointed the gun at Broxton’s chest. “What could it hurt?”

“
Why?”

“
Such a small word and such a big question.” The German was enjoying himself. “Stardust was a drug boat.”

“
Impossible. I searched that boat myself,” Broxton said.

“
The cocaine was glassed into the hull, packed in between the bulk heads and buried into the bilges, false bottom. Millions of dollars.”

“
Too bad,” Broxton said.

“
They don’t know what caused the explosion, but Dieter thinks it was your big mouth.” And Broxton had to fight a smile, he had a name now, and he knew who Dieter was.

“
I don’t get it.” Broxton said, playing for time and more information.

“
They think the competition blew the boat. That way they keep their prices up and our stuff out of California.”

“
No honor among thieves,” Broxton said.

“
None,” the German said, bringing up the gun.

“
Wait, one last quick question.”

“
No.”

“
Like you said, what could it hurt?”

“
Ask.”

“
A German accent, male with a little girl’s voice?”

The man with the gun laughed. “Our man inside the DEA, Kurt’s twin, Karl,” he said. Then T-Bone shot the laughing German in the belly. He flew backwards, dropping the gun, clutching his stomach and screaming, until he collided with the mast and fell forward, bleating like a calf.

Broxton dropped to the deck with fear-crazed speed, grabbing the German’s gun. The Cuban fired his machine pistol, but he was caught by surprise and his shots went wild. T-Bone shot him in the chest. He was dead before his body hit the deck.

The Hispanic in the speedboat was busy sliding a fender between the speedboat and Obsession, his machine pistol out of reach on the stern seat when Broxton shot him between the eyes.

Both Broxton and T-Bone trained their weapons on the German still standing and he threw his hands in the air. The other one was still wailing on the deck, hands clutching his bloody stomach.

“
Oh, put him out of his misery,” T-Bone said, and Broxton turned the man over with his foot and shot him through the heart.

“
I want to know more about the man with the little girl’s voice,” Broxton said.

The German glared at Broxton and Broxton blew off his right knee cap. He sank to the deck without a whimper, hate filling his eyes.

“
Tell me about the man with the little girl’s voice.”

The German glared up at Broxton, who aimed the pistol at the man’s groin. “No more,” he pleaded. “His name is Karl Schneidler. He works for the DEA.” He bit into his lip to help fight the pain. Both his hands were clutching his bloody knee.

“
How, if he’s German?”

“
He’s an American citizen. It’s not so hard.”

“
Tell me more,” Broxton said. Now he knew who the traitor was. He knew who’d set him up.

“
He sails a forty-five foot sloop.”

“
Boat name? Color? Where can I find him?”

“
Snake Eyes. Black. Don’t know,” he said.

Broxton raised the gun.

“
I don’t know,” he wailed. “Dieter has them out chasing two women in a big race boat. He’s mad like hell that they haven’t caught her.”

“
Fallen Angel?” Broxton asked.

“
Yes,” the German said.

“
Why?”

“
She’s like Stardust. Only more valuable”

Broxton looked at T-Bone and nodded. T-Bone shot the German in the back of the head.

“
Billy Boy, we gotta talk.”

“
Soon as we clean up the mess,” Broxton said. T-Bone nodded. Then the two men went to work. T-Bone tightened sail and pointed Obsession away from the island and out toward the sea. Then they dumped the three bodies in the speedboat still rafted to the side.

“
When we get far enough away, so that we can’t be seen, we’ll cut it loose.”

“
You don’t want to dump the bodies? Get rid of the evidence?”

“
No.”

“
You want to send a message?”

“
Yes.”

“
Better than a postcard,” T-Bone said, and he picked up the salt water hose and started hosing down the deck.

“
Okay, Billy Boy,” T-Bone said when the deck was clean. “Tell me about the German with the little girl’s voice.”

“
I really hate that name,” Broxton said.